Indefinite Curiosities

View of the Crystal Cove from my airplane seat.

As I take my last few walks throughout the city it’s a sad moment for me not because I am leaving, but because the environments and spaces that I have come to frequent have changed in their nature. The antique bird markets have now been overtaken with parking spaces for buses. Musicians who used to fill the streets no longer do so because of the sheer number of tourists coming and going forcing them to either go home, or fight to be heard. Even the cafés have a different air to them, announcing the start of the tourism season.

It’s fleeting… the sound that is. Lasting for only a few seconds, hitting every surface while splitting into millions of fragments, evolving into echoes. And yet, it is so paramount in telling the narrative of the city. One day, the sounds I’ve recorded over the past few months will have become nostalgic in the same way we listen to the music of the 1950s or an old radio broadcasting telling the mystery of a detective in New York. It say’s something to the anthropological nature of the work, becoming a fly on the wall, fly in the soup, and a fly in the eye.

Sound, more importantly music, had a distinct purpose in my life in Paris. Whether it was in way-finding, encouraging discoveries of spaces not seen by an eye, moving the body, or changing the mood of a street it enhanced the architecture in a way that architecture could not achieve itself.

I know I haven’t blogged (I don’t really like that word) over the last week, but I honestly didn't think anyone was reading so I retreated back to my thoughts giving the ideas time to marinade in my head before I wrote them down. Don’t worry in the coming days and weeks, I will, and depending on the publisher’s thoughts you might be able to read them here. I’ll be doing a complete overhaul of the website changing it from blog to a reservoir of sensations, memories, and intelligible findings of my time here (fingers crossed). For those of you who have been reading this blog, you were the lucky few because I didn't really publicize it, or gave it the graphic identity I would have. I just wanted it to be pure thoughts and words. For the past two months, I think it has been, but now the real work starts (the publicizing, marketing, identity package, the business of the beast), and I won’t stop until I’ve reached a point of thick description, until something is learned, until the itch, the curiosity is satiated.

From Paris, this is Matthew Jamieson Abiva signing off. I’ll be enjoying my new view soon.

Meeting Francoise.

I first saw her in silhouette.

One leading, the other living a life narrated by the voice of the other, it would not be long until they reached my table.

Sitting atop the café in L’Pompidou Centre, I spent hours watching the silhouettes walk by. In the late morning, a surging wash of visitors would paint the concrete floor, both in the sharpness of their line and in the blurred states of their shadows. The effect is renewing and steady. However today, I found something distinctly different. I reached for the camera to document the moment for the fear that no one would believe what would happen next.

There she was, blind.

I saw the two friends traverse the interior space arriving at the foot of the escalator beneath me. So all at once, I captured the moment. I wondered what her imagination had shown her at L’Pompidou Centre and as the thought left me, I returned to my writing.

Without reason, I looked up to search for a friend that would never come and it was then that I heard them, the blind woman and her friend.

“Francoise, we’re coming up to a glass topped table now. The seats are lined with some red crushed velvet fabric, and the frame is curved steel ok darling. There are two other tables beside this one, and they are empty. You can sit here love. I’m going to go get some food for us, what would you like to have?”

“Oh, I don’t mind at all Jenny. You choose.”

Francoise was listening intently but I could tell that her eyes, dormant underneath her skin, were somewhere else. She looked up as if she could see, emerging from below the level of the water into her first gasp of air. Jenny’s description lifted her through the liquid ceiling that comes with being blind, and she could breathe again.

With a rough sketch of her surroundings, Francoise moved to her hands aged with beauty and yet pregnant with the curiosity of a child. They were feeling, touching, seeing everything out of sight. The painting in her head was not yet finished and I had a chance to be a part of that image, imagination, she needed only to hear me.

To be continued…

The Great Impression

No matter how old I get, no matter how senile, how absent-minded, I will never forget the feeling of watching Paris transform from winter to spring. For this California kid, after twenty three years of living, I've finally experienced a true season. I apologize for not posting more, but sometimes I feel life should be lived, not narrated. Spring in Paris, is definitely one of those times. More to come soon.

The Secret

The aspect I love most about this city is the general attention to craftsmanship in all aspects of life. Just the simple ritual of drinking tea has been brought up into the level of godliness, and the French have mastered a way of finding passions each person is good at, thus becoming ambassadors of their art. So I'll share with you a secret... This art is more beautiful than anything in the Louvre herself, because it is the art of Parisian life. An art lived, experienced every day.

Imagination in an Invisible Paris

"For me, blindness has a lot to do with imagination. It's a constant imagination actually. You imagine everything, what you smell, what you feel, or what you hear. So sometimes we want to really stop and enjoy with all of our senses... sometimes there is no time to just smell or to just listen."

-Sabriye Tenberken, blinded at the age of 12, is the co-founder of Braille Without Borders

There has been a lot of confusion or perhaps a lack of understanding from the design community as to why I am conducting sound research in Paris, or as to why I came to the 'City of Lights' to literally be blind. Some would go as far to call it masochism. So I felt that now would be an appropriate time to share this quote with you from Sabriye Tenberken because it is so dead on in its description of my experience here that it hurts.

Again, Reasons which may have not been clear from the beginning

The first school for the blind, L'Institute National des Jeunes Aveugles or INJA (Royal Institution for Blind Youth) started in Paris in the year 1784 by Valentin Hauy.

Braille is a system used by the blind to read and write. It was discovered by a blind Frenchman, Louis Braille who attended the INJA.

During the 1800s most organs in the cathedrals of Paris were played by blind musicians, one of which was Andre Marchal who served as the primary organist of L'Eglise Saint Germain des Pres.

Raymond Carver's Cathedral

We can gain so much from understanding the visually impaired by celebrating their experiences in design rather than diminishing them to a singular check mark for code. I know I'm going to be excommunicated for this, but it's really not just about the money shot. If I can design a building that makes a visually impaired person say "Wow" then I know I've done my job for the day and I can sleep well.

-Matt

The 'Pursuit of Silence' In a World full of Noise

A new book from writer George Prochnik. Some studies include the relationship of music and alcohol consumption in restaurants in France, as well as its energetic power in retail spaces. Additionally he promotes the use of new technologies and materials in sound proofing such as a silencing machine or silencing cloak.

For those of you asking how sound can be used in design... here's your answer.

http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=125511963

In the movie Vanilla Sky

Tom Cruise's character woke up to a deserted New York City. Today I woke up to a deserted Paris. Where is everyone?!